Frodo Versus The Shire
by cassiopeia3019
Summary: Frodo must defend his love for Sam (slash)
1. Of Holes and Laws

Part 1: Of Holes and Laws

"Frodo," Sam complained, looking rather uncomfortable, "could you please stop fussing over me?"  
  
Frodo smoothed down the collar of Sam's fresh-pressed shirt and smiled. "I do like fussing over you, Sam dear," he said lightly, though Sam could see the look of worry scurry through Frodo's eyes.  
  
"Oh, is that so?" Sam returned the same warm smile, attempting to ease Frodo's mood.  
  
Frodo laughed and gathered Sam in his arms. "Indeed I do!" he proclaimed. Frodo caught Sam's mouth in a silky, tea-tasting kiss. "If you should ever forget," came the hot-breathed reply on Sam's mouth, "think of that."  
  
"And not what we did last night?" Sam's eyes twinkled.   
  
Frodo affected a look of nonchalance, though his mouth remained smug as he gathered up a stack of parchments and slid them into his pack. Outside in the garden the morning steamed hot, hazy air, and the summer blossoms bloomed brightly in the sun. It was a particularly sultry Forelithe day; Frodo had awoken to find himself soaked in sweat (though, he thought as he untangled his limbs from Sam's, it could have been a remnant of the night before) and having little appetite. Sam had managed to fill Frodo's mouth with cooled tea and a generous slice of blueberry cobbler, Frodo's favourite dessert.  
  
"You're worried." Sam's voice simply stated this; there was no need to question.  
  
"Of course I'm worried." Frodo grabbed a comb and drew it through his sweat-damp curls. He gave Sam an appraising glance. "Your collar is crooked again."  
  
Sam hastily fixed it up. "Who do you think will be there?"  
  
"Oh, everybody, Sam! Bolgers, Tooks, Bagginses, Burrowses, Bracegirdles, Proudfeet…" Frodo's nose wrinkled. "The S-B's." He bent down to search for something in a drawer. "Really, that Lobelia! If it wasn't enough to steal from Bilbo, now she has to do this." Having secured the item he was looking for (a quill), Frodo shouldered his pack. "Shall we go, Sam?"  
  
Butterflies all of a sudden began to flutter in Sam's tummy. "It's not fair, Frodo. Daisy and Ned never had to answer to this, and she got…"  
  
"Hush Sam." Frodo's mouth was light against Sam's brow. "It will be all right."  
  
Sam fetched a pony (named Sassafras) chomping the grass in the party field. She had been tied there the night before especially for their journey. It was many miles to Michel Delving, and neither Sam nor Frodo fancied walking in the summer heat. Sam met Frodo at Bag End's gate. Frodo jumped behind Sam, hands wrapped around Sam's waist, and they clip-clopped on down the road.  
  
People stopped talking to their neighbours, or ploughing their fields, or drinking a cool morning beer to peer at the two hobbits riding by. Sunlight shimmered off the trees' leaves, and watery patches of haze glimmered on the road ahead. They rode on down the Hill, and cut across fields dappled with flowers and ripe berries, to meet the East Road, where they proceeded to turn right and follow the well-used road to the capital of the Shire (or, at least, the Westfarthing). The sun rose high and hot. Sam mopped his brow with his sleeve but said nothing. It was thirsty work, navigating the dusty road and ignoring people's curious stares. Just as Sam was about to suggest they stop at an inn -- the _Keg and Kettle_, about two miles from Michel Delving -- Frodo stirred and put a water bottle to Sam's lips. Sam drank the sweet liquid in relief.  
  
Michel Delving was much larger than Hobbiton, though in all other respects not particularly different. There were the usual shops and marketplaces that could be found in any respectable hobbit-town. Sam could see a brewery, a tailor's house, a florist shop (festooned with roses and daisies and other pretty flowers) and a bookshop, not to mention the stalls of milk and chickens and eggs and delicious snacks like clotted cream dashed over strawberries and fried sausages sprinkled with herbs.   
  
Behind him, Sam felt Frodo stiffen as the Delving hobbits whispered behind their hands to each other.  
  
"I should like to think people would have better things to do than gossip about us," Frodo murmured.  
  
Sam bit his lip and shook his head. He directed the pony through a left turn and stared straight ahead. "It's a right bit of scandal," he said. "Even if it was ordinary hobbits, not the Master of the Hill."  
  
"I suppose I can't blame them." Frodo tried to bite away the bitterness of his words. "If it were somebody else, I would probably be gossiping about it as well."  
  
"My Gaffer was telling me this ain't happened since he were a little lad," said Sam. The sharp scent of fresh-caught fish wafted into his nostrils as they passed a fish merchant. Sam wiped his nose with his hand and sniffed. "I wish it weren't so hard, is all."  
  
"Oh, dear Sam!" Frodo's voice was soft and sad. "I wish so, too. In fact, I wish I could kiss you now, long and sweet, but I daresay it would be a greater harm in the long run."  
  
Ahead of them, at the far end of the street, sprawled the Town Hole, magnificent with its white-polished brick walls and tall, oak doors. Contained within the building were the Mayor's chambers, rooms for his assistants and some other rooms of little value. But the most important room of the Hole was the courtroom. This was where the mayor and his assistants heard cases of grievance between hobbits -- usually land disputes or cases of petty theft, or, in a particularly scandalous case, who the father was of a particular babe, and whether he ought to marry the lass in question.  
  
The talk died to muted whispers as Sam and Frodo rode up to the Hole. A crowd had gathered -- which included scruffy lads, old gammers, and even a crying babe in its mother's arms -- to witness the event. It was not due to start till eleven o'clock, in a few minutes' time, when the mayor would open the doors and proclaim that all who wished to enter should.   
  
Sam tugged gently on Sassafras' reins, urging her to a halt. He held his head high, swung off the pony and helped Frodo down. All eyes were on them as Sam steadied Frodo with hands on his waist.   
  
"I should take Sass to the stable." Sam hesitated. "Should you come with me?"  
  
"I'll stay here." Frodo was determined. "I won't be scared away."  
  
Frodo watched Sam lead the pony around the corner, to Old Morgo's stable, where Sassafras would be looked after with care: cool shade and even cooler water served by Morgo's stableboys every hour or so. Turning away from Sam's and Sassafras' disappearing bodies, Frodo surveyed the crowd. The conversations had resumed, somewhat more softly than before, and the glances that flicked Frodo's way were both curious and wary. He reached into his pack and pulled out a generous slice of honey cake, delicately spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon. Frodo unwrapped the package and proceeded to eat the cake in slow, deliberate bites, licking the crumbs caught at the corner of his mouth and between his fingers.   
  
Presently Sam returned and began to eat his own slice of honey cake. He nudged Frodo softly with his elbow. "Look who's over there."  
  
"Yes, she's been staring at me since we arrived. No doubt cooking up more plans in that detestable mind of hers." As if she could sense somebody was talking about her, Lobelia turned away from her conversation with her son, Lotho, (Otho, unfortunately, had died a few years ago) and locked eyes with Frodo. Frodo smiled sweetly and waved (spraying cake crumbs as he did so). Lobelia, in disgust and confusion, folded her arms beneath her ample breasts and looked away.   
  
Sam put an arm to his mouth and chuckled. Even Frodo let out a grin. It was quickly smothered when Lotho gave him and Sam a rude gesture. This time Frodo turned away.   
  
"This really is an awful business," said Sam, sticking the rest of his cake in his pack. His appetite had gone. "Couldn't you just pretend we weren't--?"  
  
"No, Sam." Frodo didn't care who saw him as he placed hands on Sam's shoulders. "I will not lie about this. I will never deny this. _Never_."  
  
Sam nodded. Frodo's hands slipped down his arms and squeezed his own brown hands for a moment. "I understand."  
  
"Will your Gaffer and sisters be coming?" Frodo looked around the crowd.  
  
"My Gaffer's gardening at Widow Rumble's this morning, and if May and Mari finish their duties quick, they might make it here around lunchtime."  
  
"It would be nice to have family here." Frodo sounded wistful. "Merry and Pippin will be here tomorrow, if The Took spares them from berry harvesting. Other than that, it seems the rest of the family is against me." A dark look shot from Frodo's face in the direction of Lobelia.  
  
Aware of the attention being given to them, Sam moved as close to Frodo as he could without heated whispers springing up around them. Desperately he wanted to hug Frodo, but that would be right silly. "You miss Mr. Bilbo, don't you?"  
  
"Oh, yes." Frodo drew lazy circles onto the road with his big toe. "He would have sorted this mess out in a few hours. But he is gone, and I am the Master. I need to sort out my own problems now."  
  
"And a right sticky one now!" muttered Sam. He took out his water bottle and shared some with Frodo. As he was stashing the bottle away, the great oaken doors crashed open and the mayor came tumbling out. (Not quite literally, but Mayor Whitfoot did resemble Frodo's Aunt Poppy's dumplings, though, of course, without the thick gravy sauce and delicious carrots.)  
  
Will Whitfoot stood on the top step and wiped his face with a bright orange handkerchief. He puffed his cheeks and surveyed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlehobbits," he rumbled in rich, fruity tones. "It is my humble pleasure to announce that the courtroom is now open. I'm sure you are aware of the case we shall soon be hearing. It's all I've been hearing from my wife during the past week," he added, louder than he ought to have (Will's wife was a rather overwhelming lass, in both stature and mind). "Could those involved please step forward?"  
  
Sharing a glance, Sam and Frodo wended through the crowded hobbits to the steps. Several feet to their right stood Lobelia and Lotho, with their lawyer, Messr Largo Grubb, smirking and appraising Sam and Frodo as if they were horse dung.   
  
The mayor cleared his throat. "All right, then. The rest of you, please take the seats at the back of the court. I hope there will be no disorder if there happen to be not enough seats for everybody." Whitfoot's eyes glanced off Sam and Frodo, and Lobelia and Lotho. "Please follow me." Louder, he said that again.  
  
There was a tremendous uproar of approval. A baby began to cry. Hobbits began to push and shove their way into the Hole. Frodo and Sam, followed closely by Lobelia and Lotho, accompanied the mayor past the doors and inside. A high roof arched over them, dotted with glass windows, and branched with wooden beams. It was very pretty, allowing sunlight to pattern the tiled floor, though some muttered that the structure was rather precariously built. This was the antechamber, for hobbits waiting to see the mayor, or waiting for the court to open after a break, or for some other important business. Large, luxurious and many-pillowed couches lined the antechamber's walls. Previous mayors had learnt that patience is not something hobbits excel at, and had decided to make the wait as comfortable as possible. This, of course, also included tables with trays of apple tarts, egg and ham sandwiches and chocolate-drizzled biscuits, and other delicious items, to keep the hobbits content.  
  
Frodo followed the mayor past the two swinging doors and into the courtroom; behind them people jostled and shouted, and both Frodo and Sam (and Lobelia and Lotho, Frodo was pleased to note) received a few bumps and knocks. Five seats were reposed at the front of the room: one seat was raised on a dais for the mayor, and two on each side for his most senior assistants. The four assistants were already in their chairs, papers and quills and ink bottles covering their desks. They tried to look serious and important as the crowd entered. A bench on the right sat the plaintiff, while the bench on the left seated the defendants. Behind the benches were ten rows of the same hard seats, for the public. They seated about one hundred hobbits, though today it would probably seat more at a tight squeeze.   
  
The mayor strode forward and took his seat (breathing heavily and mopping his face), and Sam and Frodo turned to their left and rested their bottoms on the hard, wooden bench.   
  
"My backside is going to become very sore if we must sit here for days!" whispered Frodo to Sam, as he began taking out his papers.   
  
Eyes dancing with mischief, Sam hissed back (very softly), "Ought I massage it tonight, then?"  
  
Frodo swallowed what was apparently a hiccough. "We shall see."  
  
Sam smiled and wriggled on the uncomfortable seat. It was good to see Frodo in fine humour and spirits -- despite what was about to happen. The past week, since Frodo had found the summons in his letterbox, had been quite trying for both of them. Frodo's mood swung from quiet to snappish at the click of fingers during the first few days. Sam was, quite frankly, terrified of the whole thing. They hadn't made love for two nights till Sam had finally talked it over with Frodo, proper-like. Each had thought the other would leave him, which was obviously a very big mistake, as the words and activities that followed this discourse had shown. And they had made love every night (sometimes twice, occasionally thrice) since.  
  
The crowd piled in. There was quite a bit of pushing and shoving as hobbits tried to gain the front row of seats. Miss Gilly Hayward had her bonnet crushed by a lad's heavy foot, and Master Will Cartwright was bruised in the belly by a sharp jab from an umbrella belonging to an old gammar. The noise rose as more hobbits entered, reaching a peak when a prim official closed the doors, shouting that no more hobbits could fit in. A disgruntled hobbit threw his cap at the shut doors and called out that if Mrs. Veronica Chubb were thrown out, there would be ample room for three hobbits to replace her. Veronica heard this, Frodo saw, because she huffed loudly and took a three-layered slice of chocolate cake (with jam and cream and berries between slices) from her bag and bit an enormous hole in said cake. Harsh, but fair, Frodo thought. In her younger days, Veronica had been awarded fairest lass in the Westfarthing at the Overlithe fair, though her fondness for sweets after she had wed had seen her be awarded the plumpest lass in the Westfarthing by a secret ballot conducted at _The Green Dragon_ one drunken summer's night.  
  
At last all were seated, many grumbling that they would need a long soak in a hot bath that night because of the scrapes, bruises and cuts received in the rush to gain a good view. Sam twisted his head to look at the crowd. A sea of bright yellows, reds, greens and blues, and babbling, bobbing heads baffled his eyes. The noise the gathered hobbits made sounded like a thousand bees dying some horrible death that bees very much dislike. He glanced to his right, where Lobelia sat with Lotho and her lawyer. Lobelia's pale lips pressed tightly together as she caught Sam's gaze. Sam dropped his eyes hastily. A hand squeezed his own; Sam looked at Frodo gratefully.  
  
The talk died at once as the mayor smacked his hammer hard on the desk. Frodo jumped in his seat. The mayor's assistants shuffled papers and once again tried to look important. Whitfoot coughed once, gathered up a piece of paper in front of him and began to read. "Today, on the 14th of Forelithe, in the year 1416, we are gathered at the Town Hole, Michel Delving, to hear the case of Frodo Baggins, Esquire, of Bag End, Hobbiton versus Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, of Hobbiton Lane, Hobbiton. The charges Mrs. Sackville-Baggins has called forth against Mr. Baggins are--" The mayor paused dramatically. The crowd hushed. Hot air swirled in through the windows and made the hobbits sweat (and the hobbit-lasses glow.)   
  
"Get on with ye!" called out a wrinkled gaffer.   
  
Will glared at the gathering. He stumbled on. "We are here today because Mrs. Sackville-Baggins has made it known to the council that there have been disreputable activities occurring at Mr. Baggins' smial. According to Westfarthing law--" He picked another paper daintily off the desk in front of him. "No hobbit shall lie with a member of the same sex, nor shall any hobbit live with another hobbit and engage in these activities. If one is found guilty of these crimes--" Again the mayor paused for dramatic effect. "--They will be thrown out of the Westfarthing and must seek a new home somewhere else in the Shire."  
  
The crowd murmured. The most-heard comment was that Frodo and Sam would go to the Eastfarthing, where the hobbits were queer and no doubt would condone these shady activities. Women dabbed their eyes with their pretty pink handkerchiefs as they had the horrible thought that their lad or lass would do such a disrespectable thing. Men muttered and tried to look horrified for their wives, as if they had thought this a heinous crime, despite having a few tumblings with their friends as hobbit-lads. Really, to tumble a lad! In his own smial! And inviting said lad to live with him! As mad as his uncle! Those crazy Bagginses!  
  
"Quiet!" The mayor tried to gain control. The sound level dropped slightly. "Frodo Baggins, what do you plead in answer of these charges?"   
  
Silence.  
  
Frodo shuffled his papers. He met Sam's gaze. Sam's eyes were soft and worried. Frodo squeezed Sam's thigh, giving him a shaky smile. A pin was heard dropping somewhere among the crowd. Standing up, Frodo looked Whitfoot in the eye, and said high and proud, "Guilty."

TBC...


	2. Of Secrets and Spies

Part 2: Of Secrets and Spies

As the word 'guilty' left Frodo's lips, a maid fainted in the back row. Voices chattered loudly. Two harried officials carried the maid's limp body from the courtroom, another fanning her with a scrap of paper. The mayor banged his hammer and restored order.  
  
"Guilty? Are you sure?" the mayor asked, looking at Frodo with raised eyebrows.  
  
Sam caught the slight stammer in Frodo's first word. "Y-yes, sir. I am guilty of all the charges Lobelia has made against me. I am indeed bedding Samwise Gamgee."  
  
Lobelia's milk-curdling voice echoed throughout the room. "Then leave Bag End, you good-for-nothing Baggins!"  
  
The mayor's handkerchief was becoming rather wet from his perspiration. "Quiet, Lobelia! Your turn will come."  
  
Lobelia curtsied to Will and looked abashed. (At least she tried to; what she really looked like was somebody looking upon her uncle after Yuletide luncheon when he tries to drunkenly navigate his way to the privy but rather falls arse over onto the nearest couch, snoring loudly.) "Sorry, your Honour," she murmured.  
  
The mayor peered at Frodo. "Are you sure, Mr. Baggins? Do you realise the consequences of your words?"  
  
Frodo raised his chin, proud. "I do, sir. And I will leave Bag End if I am found guilty. But I wish to argue the validity of the laws, and prove that they are not honourable."  
  
"Not honourable? Whatever do you mean?" A puzzled frown embedded itself between the mayor's eyebrows.  
  
"I wish to argue that there is nothing wrong with what Sam and I do," Frodo said. "It is perfectly natural -- as natural as a hobbit-maid and lad, one might say."  
  
Well, this sent the crowd into an uproar. Feet were stamped, umbrellas jabbed, food thrown (or eaten) and caps tossed. A few lasses began to cry. Officials escorted these poor women out with the promise of a rich cupcake with sugar sprinkled on top and garnished with thick clotted cream. While the hobbits made enough noise to wake the spirits lurking around the Barrow-downs, Frodo took a drink and looked wearily at Sam.  
  
"This is going to take a long time," he said, "if there is a commotion every time I say something that, well, makes them uncomfortable."  
  
Sam wiped his mouth and put his water bottle on the desk in front of him. "As long as we don't have to show 'em anything," he muttered.  
  
Soon order was restored. Hobbits wriggled comfortably at the extra room available. Will looked down at Frodo. "I suppose you have an argument -- some evidence -- to support your claim, Mr. Baggins?"  
  
"Oh, yes." Frodo indicated the papers before him with a bent finger. "I do. And witnesses."  
  
"Witnesses?" The mayor's voice had the same particular sharpness as a half-ripe pear. It also made Frodo want to spit in disgust, and he reflected this would look not half as bad as him and Sam sharing the same bed.  
  
"They won't be available till tomorrow, however." Frodo gave the mayor his warmest grin, friendly-like. Not too friendly, in case Will got the idea that the very handsome and very rich Frodo Baggins was trying to seduce him in the hope of the trial going in his favour.  
  
Will's face took on a sickly-green appearance. He had been hoping, since Frodo had pleaded guilty, that the matter would be put to bed (pun not intended) before lunchtime, and he would have the rest of the afternoon to lounge around in his chambers drinking cold ale and fantasising about what his wife was making for dinner that night. (He hoped for her prize-winning honeyed leg of pork studded with little black cloves nesting in a bed of well-cooked vegetables drizzled with molasses-thick gravy. Though he wouldn't complain if she dished up her roasted chicken lying in its mouth-watering juices that practically crumbled in your mouth before you began to chew. And if dessert happened to be a berry tart with a sugar crust, well, he wasn't--)  
  
One of the mayor's assistants had fallen off his chair. Startled, the mayor gave the hobbit a quick nod as he sat gingerly back in his chair, rubbing his elbow, and made a note to send the hobbit's wife a basket of mushrooms some time next week.  
  
"All right then, Mr. Baggins, though I think we should take a lunch-break now," the mayor said hastily. "The court will open again at two o'clock." He banged his hammer down. "Court dismissed."  
  
The crowd filed out, whispering to each other. Frodo gathered up his papers with a confident air and smiled at Sam. "That didn't go half as bad as I thought it would," he said.  
  
"At least they're giving you a chance to argue," replied Sam. "'Twould be a shame to leave Bag End after all these years."  
  
"Oh, dear Sam," said Frodo sadly, touching the corner of Sam's sleeve. "I'm sure it would be much harder for you to leave Bag End than I. Not that I don't love that smial dearly, but to think of all the work you've done in the garden."  
  
"I always thought the garden was mine," said Sam quietly, looking down shame-faced. "Even before I came to live with you. I never told no-one, because it wasn't my place to say such nonsense. But when I wrap my hand around a daisy-stem, or dig my fingers in the soil, it _feels_ like home, if you take my meaning."  
  
"Oh, I do, Sam, I do. And if we aren't banished from the Westfarthing after all this, I shall give you a fifty percent share of Bag End, if you would like that."  
  
Sam looked startled, earth-brown eyes widening. "Sir! Really."  
  
"I will do my best, Sam," said Frodo solemnly.   
  
"But I…I have nothing to give you!" burst out Sam.   
  
"Nothing?" Frodo held both of Sam's wrists. "You give me your heart, your soul, your love. That is not nothing, Sam. It is the most wonderful gift I have ever received. Don't think so poorly of yourself. You deserve more than that."  
  
Sam's eyes shone, and Frodo thought that it didn't matter if they were removed to the Eastfarthing. It didn't matter if they were chasing dragons or singing with elves or eating strawberries in the cool glades of the Marish: if Sam was with him, he would be happy. But Frodo wouldn't give up Bag End without a fight. Bilbo, his wise, brave Uncle who cared for him as if he were his son, had entrusted Bag End to Frodo. Lobelia and her pimple-scarred son were not going to wrest the home Frodo loved and cherished as easily as stealing sugared gooseberries from a hobbit-babe. And if Frodo could help some of the lads who wanted to tumble or live with another lad in a time to come, he would be delighted to help.  
  
"Ha! You think so!" Lobelia had ambushed Frodo and Sam as they emerged from their bench. Her voice lowered. "_I_ am going to have Bag End, Frodo Baggins, if it's the last thing I do. I don't care what 'evidence' you have. You and your catamite have clearly violated Shire law. We've been waiting long enough, and we're not going to miss out this time."  
  
"Is that so?" asked Frodo politely. "We shall see. If you hadn't been spying in the window, you might not have seen anything. And I thought it was some perverse fetish of yours to watch people make love."  
  
Lobelia blushed bright red and smoothed down her skirts. "I was only coming to visit a relative of mine to talk and drink tea."  
  
"At nine o'clock at night?" Frodo pursed his lips together and waited for an answer.  
  
Lobelia's stormy eyes narrowed. "I heard terrible noises; I thought you were being murdered!"  
  
"Such a shame," Frodo murmured.  
  
"I have never been more ashamed to be a Baggins in all my life when I saw what you and -- and your gardener were doing," said Lobelia icily. "You won't be so calm when you're sitting on Bag End's doorstep while I sit by the cosy hearth."  
  
"Yes, Lobelia."  
  
Lobelia clicked her fingers in front of Frodo's eyes. "Is that all you can say to that, Baggins?"  
  
"Yes, Lobelia."  
  
"Come on, Lotho." Lobelia grabbed her son's arm. "He's clearly as mad as Bilbo. I can barely stand the sight of him. All I can see in my mind is him and the help thrashing around in that bed of his. I don't know how they managed not to break their legs in that awkward position…" Her voice trailed off as she dragged Lotho through the courtroom. Messr Grubb trotted behind them clutching a pile of notes.  
  
Frodo watched them leave. "I feel like having a bite to eat, Sam. Maybe some food will rid the sick feeling I get in my stomach when I listen to Lobelia prattle on. Should we head to _The Waning Moon_ for lunch?"  
  
If Sam had stared at Lobelia any harder during her exchange with Frodo, Sam thought she would probably have fallen dead on the spot. Not that Sam wished anybody to be dead, but he _did_ like the idea of Lobelia being sent to the Lockholes for a few days. Maybe the rats and spiders and shadow-monsters would be her friend, since nobody else would.  
  
The lightest touch on his cheek sent dark thoughts of Lobelia scrambling from Sam's mind.  
  
Frodo's face gazed at Sam with such love, Sam thought his heart would burst and scatter like a shooting star burning up in the night sky.  
  
"Yes, Frodo," he said.   
  
Noll, the barman, dropped two tankards of ale in front of Sam and Frodo. "Lunch will be served shortly, sirs," he said in a rush. A plate of cheese landed on the table barely before he was off again.  
  
"At least somebody treats us like normal hobbits," said Frodo with a grin. He took a long, refreshing drink of ale and reached for a piece of cheese, crumbling it in his mouth thoughtfully. The pub was busy; many people watching the trial had wandered over for lunch. Noll was delighted, and rushed off his feet, zigzagging his way through the crowd carrying pitchers of ale and plates groaning with food. Noll didn't care who was on trial. All he knew was that it brought in more customers, and maybe he'd have enough money to buy little Bess a new dress or two after this.  
  
Frodo noticed Sam was looking at him with a curious -- and adorable -- expression. It was, Frodo thought, remarkably similar to the one which had graced Sam's features when Frodo had carried a bowl of warm melted chocolate into their room one night and proceeded to drip the slippery mixture all over Sam's belly with a silver spoon, sketching many pretty shapes and figures. And it was completely accidental when Frodo dropped one or two large blobs on Sam's nether regions, and, rather innocently, claimed he needed to lick them off Sam's extremely lickable nether regions. In the end, both of them needed to have a bath, after being smeared with chocolate (and another sticky substance), for the chocolate (and the other sticky substance) had gone hard and was pulling at their hairs when they tried to scrape it off with fingernails. And, oh the bath…  
  
Sam watched as Frodo's countenance took on a dreamy expression, and his tongue sneaked out of his mouth and slicked his bottom lip. "Frodo?"  
  
"W-what?" Startled out of his fantasy, Frodo spilled his drink over his thumb. Demurely, he licked the foam up and regarded Sam. "Yes, Sam?"   
  
Sam swallowed. "I was wondering what evidence you have. You didn't tell me aught about it."  
  
"Oh." Frodo took out his napkin and delicately wiped his mouth, looking smug. "You shall see, Sam."  
  
"You think it will work?"  
  
Frodo's face darkened a trace. "I hope so." He picked up another piece of cheese and popped it into his mouth.  
  
"And you're not going to tell me," Sam probed, sliding a toe surreptitiously up Frodo's calf.   
  
"Seducing me won't work, Samwise," said Frodo mildly. "And please keep your feet to yourself -- at least till we're home."  
  
"I might think of a way of coaxing it out of you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said heavily.  
  
Frodo leaned forward, with a hand on his chin and a flash of eyelashes. "It's good to see this trial has not stopped your flirting. Seriously, Sam, please don't worry. Ah -- here's lunch!"  
  
A plump, large-bosomed maid set out plates of crusty bread thick with butter, mushrooms drowning in cheese sauce and little pies filled with chopped chicken in front of Sam and Frodo.   
  
Frodo breathed deeply. "It smells heavenly."  
  
"Glad to see you've found your appetite," said Sam, putting his mouth around a dripping mushroom.   
  
"I'm feeling much more confident now," said Frodo, digging into his meal happily. "And more so when Merry and Pip arrive."  
  
Sam raised a sceptical eyebrow. "They're not part of you plans, are they?"  
  
A smile bloomed on Frodo's lips. "Maybe," he said mischievously.  
  
Sam began to make a list of all the things he could do to Frodo tonight to make him spill the beans. After a moment's thought, the list had reached nine -- ah, ten. He hoped the bottle of oil hidden under Frodo's pillow would last an hour, let alone the night. He bit into a crust of bread and watched the gleam of the afternoon sun tickle Frodo's cheek.  
  
Lunch tucked away in their bellies, and still a while till the court was to begin, Sam and Frodo stood under the shade of a tree and smoked their pipes, sending curling clouds dancing in the air. Hobbits dealt curious glances their way as they bustled about, and some stood in groups watching them carefully, though none had garnered the courage to speak with them.   
  
Frodo touched Sam. "Look, Sam. Your father and sisters have arrived."  
  
The Gaffer and Sam's sisters rode at their ease down the road in a pony trap. The Gaffer sat at the front with the driver, while Marigold and May sat at the back, gazing at their surroundings. They did not come to Michel Delving often, so everything was new and strange to them, especially now when they would be sitting in on their brother's lover's court case.   
  
The cart halted before Sam and Frodo, and the Gaffer climbed out slowly, shooing away the driver who offered a hand. Frodo helped Marigold down, and Sam helped May, and soon the pony and cart were off, the pony taken to Morgo's for a well-earned rest.  
  
"Well, Sam, how ye going?" the Gaffer grunted, taking a long, thirsty drink from the bottle Sam handed him. He looked old and hot, and lines of worry creased his brow. He'd been far from pleased to learn Sam was sharing Frodo's bed, but Sam had come of age years ago, and it weren't the Gaffer's place to say where Sam put his shovel, or ploughed his field, or watered his garden, so to speak.  
  
"Yes, Sam, we're awful worried," May piped up, tucking damp threads of her wheat-coloured hair behind her ear. She tossed her braids over her shoulder and fanned her face with her hand. "And it's awful hot today."  
  
"I'd be fine enough," said Sam, pecking May and Marigold on the cheek. "And I'd be grateful you're here."  
  
"Of course we'd be here!" said Marigold. "We'd not let you down, Sam. 'Tis a silly law, and if Mr. Frodo's found guilty, I'll -- I'll… Well, 'twould be something awful." She blushed and glanced at Frodo. "If you don't mind me saying, sir, that Mrs. Lobelia is a right pain for doing this. I'd dye her underthings bright pink if I'd not think she'd whip me on the spot."  
  
Frodo chuckled. "I don't mind. And don't do anything to Lobelia on my account. I'll see she get what she deserves."  
  
"Well, I scratched my head, Mr. Frodo, all week," said the Gaffer, "and I can't think of no way to stop them finding 'ee guilty. The law's clear as a summer night full o' stars."  
  
"I've got some plans, Mr. Gamgee," said Frodo. "I only hope they work, for I would hate Sam to leave his family and the garden he loves."  
  
"Ah, well, 'twould be a shame, sir," answered the Gaffer. "But I'm no stranger to having family leave. Old Bell, she'd be nearly having her birthday if she'd be alive. And Hamson and Halfred went on their ways. But I've been telling everyone that Mr. Frodo looks after my Sam, and has never done naught disrespectful in front of my eyes, so 'tis no bother to me." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "And it'd not pain me to see Mrs. Lobelia get a kick in her skirts. Ever since she made me work in the rain last year and catch the 'flu I've waited for someone to do something. Don't you go saying aught, Mr. Frodo, 'bout that."   
  
Frodo smiled. "Oh, I won't, Mr. Gamgee. And lately I've rather felt like getting even with Lobelia myself."  
  
"You have my blessing," the Gaffer said, clasping Frodo's hand. "You just take care o' yourself and my Samwise, whatever would happen."  
  
Sam stepped forward, eyes shining. "Thank you, sir," he said softly. "That'd mean more than anything to us."  
  
"No need to be uppity," chuckled the Gaffer. "Plain old gaffer's fine, Sam, and you know it."  
  
Sam laughed, a clear joyful laugh, and Frodo joined him, and so did the Gaffer, and finally Marigold and May did, and the hobbits watching them thought the Gamgees had gone as mad as the Bagginses.   
  
A bell tolled then, and people shouted, and clouds of hot dust swirled about the Hole's steps: the court was about to begin.  
  
TBC...  



	3. Of Untruths and Kisses

_Part 3: Of Untruths and Kisses_  
  
Frodo managed to make it into the courtroom with only a scratch to the cheek (from a lass's too-long fingernails) and a bump in the groin (which worried him somewhat, not because he planned to have children in his lifetime, but that it might be too sore for Sam to do extremely naughty things in the vicinity of that particular region.) Sam was unscathed, except for a bruised little finger which had been jarred between a bench and Sam's bulk by a shove from an old aunt-like figure. If worst came to worst, thought Frodo, at the end of the day he could soothe both of them by using his mouth on Sam's finger to pantomime what he would like Sam's mouth to be doing to him. Possibly it _could_ make things worse, but Frodo decided not to dwell on the fact. Sucking any part of Sam's body was generally quite nice.  
  
Sam's Gaffer and sisters had waited till the crowd had settled itself in the courtroom, then entered, claiming excellent seats because they were the defendant's family, and vicious threats from those whose seats they occupied.  
  
Lobelia, Lotho and Mr. Grubb had taken their seats; Lotho appeared to have a stain on his shirt, something that appeared to be ale-coloured. Frodo swallowed a chuckle and watched the mayor walk in, looking rather satisfied and plump-bellied. It was widely rumoured that Whitfoot ate a whole roast chicken for lunch, or its equivalent, and as Frodo watched him wipe his mouth with a napkin, Frodo had to concede the rumours might in fact be true. Whatever the truth, the mayor was burying a belch with his hand and preparing the court to begin, and Frodo could not waste time speculating about the mayor's gastronomic habits.  
  
"Order!" shouted Will, slamming his gavel down heavily. Quiet immediately established itself throughout the room. "Mr. Baggins has requested that he be allowed to argue against the laws which he has been accused of breaking. Due to the unprecedented nature of these proceedings, during lunch -- while I was enjoying a garden of stewed vegetables kindly sent by Mistress Cocklebur -- I have decided that since Mr. Baggins' guilt is beyond doubt (since he pleaded guilty), we will hear the case for and against these laws. As Mr. Baggins has made clear, he has some sort of argument, heaven knows what, that we will no doubt be hearing shortly. I ask the plaintiffs if they would like to, shall we say, debate this subject with Mr. Baggins?"  
  
Lobelia, Lotho and Grubb put their heads together and whispered furtively. After a minute, they separated from their union and Grubb rose to his feet. Lobelia smiled wickedly and moved in her seat as if she were ensconced in her favourite rocking chair.   
  
Grubb pushed his hideous tortoiseshell glasses up his nose and made a noise in his throat. "Your Honour, we would be more than pleased to join this so-called debate. Indeed, many of the notes I made in preparing this case, in the instance Mr. Baggins were to plead not guilty, would fit well into this argument. Mrs. Sackville-Baggins is very confident she will win this case; she knows the good hobbits of the Westfarthing will not let the law be so blatantly flaunted."  
  
The mayor looked pleased; Grubb returned his bottom to his seat. "Thank you, Mr. Grubb." The mayor was not merely pleased, but relieved. The crowd's reaction if the case lasted merely a few hours was something he had pondered while nibbling on a few chicken legs for lunch in his chamber. It didn't bear thinking about, truth be told. He had read the last case of this delicate subject matter between nibbles, and found the lad had pleaded not guilty, and to the delight of many, the case had lasted three insightful days. In the end, the lad and his lover were ceremonially spirited away from the Westfarthing, and society had returned to normal.   
  
Will coughed gently into his hand. "All right, then. Shall we hear the prosecution's argument?"  
  
Mr. Grubb arose again, his cheeks coral-pink and a large yellow handkerchief spilling out of his green weskit. He puffed his chest and slid past the bench to the front of the court, to stand before the mayor. "I shall now go over how Mrs. Sackville-Baggins came to lay this disreputable crime on Mr. Frodo Baggins. On Highday the 3rd of Forelithe, Mrs. Sackville-Baggins decided to visit Bag End to take tea and discuss matters--" Frodo snorted softly. He would have bet half his prized elven tomes that Lobelia had been sniffing around Bag End to find something that would incriminate him. "--What Mrs. Sackville-Baggins found disturbed her deeply, and afterwards, as her son will vouch, she came down with an illness that caused her to be unable to sleep for three days. Hearing noises inside Bag End, noises which she thought could indicate harm to Mr. Baggins, Mrs. Sackville-Baggins, concerned about Mr. Baggins' safety, knocked on the door--" (_Softly I bet_, murmured Frodo.) "--and not receiving an answer, decided to look through the window and help as best she could. She found Mr. Baggins and…" Grubb paused in his pacing and went to his bench to peer at a paper. "Mr. Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, Mr. Baggins' gardener, in a lusty embrace."  
  
It was a good five minutes before the courtroom had quieted to a dull roar. Sam blushed up to and including his ears, and Frodo sighed and pushed papers around the bench.   
  
"Mrs. Sackville-Baggins decided," continued Grubb loudly, "to report this crime to the Hole, as she received a nasty shock and would hate anybody else innocently arriving at Bag End to find such a scene!"  
  
Sam let out a short _whuff_ under his breath. Frodo agreed.   
  
"All right, then," said the mayor. "If that is all you have to say, Mr. Grubb, I will ask Frodo Baggins to respond." Grubb nodded and took his seat. Giving Sam a look, Frodo strode to the front of the court.  
  
Frodo had chosen to represent himself. There were only two law firms in the Westfarthing: Grubb, Grubb and Burrowes, and Wood and Son. Frodo had had a meeting with Wood (since he had learnt at _The Green Dragon_ that Lobelia had asked Grubb to be her lawyer.) When Frodo had admitted he had been doing those things to young Samwise Gamgee, Wood had told Frodo his only chance was to claim he had been inebriated at the time and therefore had no idea what he had been doing -- and it most definitely was the first time it had happened and it certainly wouldn't happen again. Frodo had left Wood's feeling sick, and had promptly hurried to the back of the smial and thrown up on (appropriately) Wood's prized lobelia bush. Frodo would never, _ever_ deny that he loved Sam, loved Sam's mind and _body_. Frodo was willing to sacrifice Bag End and his reputation for Sam; in fact he would do anything for Sam. Anything. Like standing up before half the hobbits in Michel Delving and telling them that he did wicked things like sleeping with somebody he loved.   
  
"My dear hobbits," Frodo began, "all that you have heard concerning me in Mr. Grubb's speech is true -- though I cannot vouch for what he says about Mrs. Sackville-Baggins. I indeed live with Samwise Gamgee, and we sleep in the same bed, and we are very much in love. Yes, Mrs. Sackville-Baggins saw Sam and me making love. However, we were doing this in the privacy of our smial, in the evening, and we were not expecting any visitors at that time. We did not mean for anybody to see us -- unfortunately I had forgotten to close the curtains, and it seems Mrs. Sackville-Baggins somehow managed to see into our bedroom. Perhaps she was sniffing the nasturtiums?" Frodo smiled pleasantly in Lobelia's direction. Lobelia sniffed primly. "I find it surprising," Frodo continued slowly, "that Mrs. Sackville-Baggins looked into our window at all. It was common knowledge throughout Hobbiton that Sam lived with me, and that we were lovers. Indeed, I heard Hanna Goldworthy telling one of her customers at the bakery of the 'queer goings-on' at Bag End while Mrs. Sackville-Baggins was purchasing an iced cake. From Mrs. Sackville-Baggins shocked expression, I imagine she overheard this discussion.   
  
"Aside from a few harsh words now and then, Sam and I have experienced no trouble with this situation till now. I wonder at some things: If Mrs. Sackville-Baggins knew of us before this incident, why did she not bring this matter to the Hole sooner? And why did she look in the window in the first place if she had an idea of what was going on? And, last of all, does Mrs. Sackville-Baggins maintain that _any_ passer-by in the Shire might have entered my property without invitation and taken the liberty of gazing directly into my bedroom?"  
  
Murmurs drifted through the courtroom. The afternoon sun sifting through the windows heated the squashed-in hobbits. Somebody coughed.  
  
The mayor leaned forward. "And what do you suggest, Mr. Baggins?"  
  
Frodo said, "I think Mrs. Sackville-Baggins knew that Sam and I were together, and that she deliberately looked in through our bedroom window to catch us having sex." Frodo paused while the crowd made a noise like a flock of starlings fighting over a loaf of raisin bread. "She did this because she wanted evidence when she brought this matter to court."  
  
"But," said the mayor, "why would she do this now?"  
  
"Ahh!" said Frodo. He began to pace up and down the courtroom. Sam watched Frodo carefully; sunlight highlighted the summer freckles tossed over Frodo's nose, and the pink lushness of his lips. Drawn into something between a smug smile and an annoyed grimace, Frodo's mouth opened just the tiniest. Just enough for the tip of his tongue to dart out and spread moisture over his bottom lip. Turning from his pacing, Frodo picked up a pitcher of water from his bench and poured a little into a glass. As he drank, a trickle of water caught on the outside of Frodo's mouth, clinging for perhaps half a second, before sliding down Frodo's chin. The crowd was silent as the drop teetered on the brink of Frodo's face, unsure whether to stay or take a leap. The anticipation was intense. Finally, with just a moment's hesitation, the drop of water fell, darkening a circle on Frodo's cream-coloured shirt. The hobbits sighed with pleasant relief.  
  
Oblivious, Frodo returned the glass to its place. Sam exhaled the rather large breath he had been holding and pulled on the thigh part of his breeches. Hobbit lasses (and some lads surreptitiously) fanned themselves with handkerchiefs or other items they found in their pockets.   
  
Frodo looked at Lobelia, who looked rather flushed herself (though, she told herself steadily, that was because it was _very_ hot, and not because-- Lobelia didn't even allow herself to finish such a horrendous thought.) "I believe Mrs. Sackville-Baggins has done this," said Frodo loudly, "because she wishes she lived in Bag End!"  
  
The audience chirruped like birds welcoming a glorious dawn. The more intelligent hobbits in the audience (and, suffice to say, there were quite a few hobbits whose view of the world was less than clear) bobbed their heads up and down, unsurprised at this revelation. It was well-known the Sackville-Bagginses wanted Bag End. Twice they had thought they had wrenched the luxurious smial from Bilbo Baggins' fingers, and twice they had been foiled. That Lobelia would humiliate her relative to take Bag End was unstartling, to say the least.   
  
"Yes, yes," spluttered the mayor (he probably not being one of the hobbits discussed in the previous paragraph). "If this is so, what difference does it make? You have still broken the law."  
  
"Yes, I understand," said Frodo smoothly. "I wanted the audience to hear my side of the story. I think you'll agree, Your Honour, that having all the facts in hand will only help you and your assistants make the correct decision."  
  
"Of course," Will murmured, and settled back in his chair. "Er, what's the time?" he asked one of his assistants. The answer which came back to him was that it was 'almost four o'clock'. Will nodded with satisfaction. That gave him enough time to munch on a few biscuits while he looked over the laborious notes his assistants had made, and then amble home to his smial where his wife would be settling dinner on the table at a quarter past six, on the dot.  
  
"Have you finished your statement, Mr. Baggins?" asked the mayor.  
  
"Yes, I think I've made my point," said Frodo. He promptly found his place next to Sam and took Sam's hand beneath the table.   
  
"I didn't look a complete fool, did I?" said Frodo quietly.   
  
"No, me dear," whispered Sam, feeling a lump in his throat, akin to the time when he accidentally swallowed an apricot seed, the reason why he didn't want to remember. Sam reasonably thought that this was entirely inappropriate for this particular moment, and forgot it. "You were wonderful."  
  
"Thank you, Sam," said Frodo gratefully. Sam's eyes became all misty, which wasn't entirely unwarranted for the moment. For all Frodo's courage and poise in front of the court, Sam knew he had been terribly frightened and nervous. It was something Sam had always admired about Frodo Baggins: if pushed, he was able to bluff his way through nasty situations. There'd been the time Frodo had found a snake baking on the garden path one spring morning while escorting the Thain around Bag End. While Sam peeked from behind a tumble of leaves, heart in his mouth because he knew Frodo _hated_ snakes, Frodo made a noise and gently lifted the snake and laid it onto a tuft of grass. Frodo and the Thain had had a quiet chuckle about it, but it was only Sam who saw Frodo's fingers trembling as he hid them behind his back.  
  
That wasn't to say Frodo was frightened a lot of the time, oh no. Snakes and skulking relatives were high on his list of things he most disliked. Those who first looked upon Frodo thought him fragile, with a small, slender grace about him and moonlight-pale skin (which actually tanned quite nicely in summer, believe it or not). But Sam had seen Frodo scythe grain for three days straight over in Buckland, and beat Sandyman in a beer drinking contest at _The Ivy Bush_. And Sam had had the pleasure of lying atop Frodo in bed (or on a table, desk, rug, grass with a sprinkling of dandelions) and feel him squirm and moan hot pleas of _yes, oh there Sam! ooh, don't stop!_ Frodo wasn't delicate then, oh no. He was a wild animal writhing in Sam's arms, a passionate and sensual lover, quite unlike the bookish bachelor all of Hobbiton knew. In Sam's arms Frodo was like a crackling fire, hot and raging and burning fiercely.  
  
The mayor coughed; Sam looked up a bit guiltily. Said Will, "The court will open again at eleven o'clock tomorrow. Court dismissed!" He banged his gavel down emphatically. The rush began.   
  
Sam and Frodo waited till the crowd had left the building. Apparently Lobelia had made a hasty exit, dragging her son out by the cuff of his sleeve. Soon only Sam and Frodo were left in the courtroom, except for a stray official or two.  
  
"We should speak to your father outside," said Frodo, shouldering his pack. "I forgot to tell you, but I bought a few extra heads of cabbages yesterday. I would like to give him one or two."  
  
Sam nodded and followed Frodo out of the Hole. The afternoon sun was dipping into the west, brushing the tips of the silvery mountains far, far away. A faint cooling breeze tickled leaves and hair, brushing sweetly over hot skin and relieving the day's aches. The Gaffer and Sam's sisters were waiting by their pony trap, the driver pushing a bucket to the pony's nose for one last drink.   
  
"Hello, Mr. Gamgee," said Frodo, petting the pony's mane. "I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable in the courtroom?"  
  
"Don't pay me no mind," said the Gaffer. He squinted up at Frodo, his face becoming strangely thoughtful. "You put on a good show, Mr. Frodo. I'm proud of ye, and of Sam."  
  
"You gave Mrs. Lobelia what she deserved," said Marigold, grinning widely. She caught Sam in a fierce hug, almost strangling the breath out of him. "I hope there's more tomorrow."  
  
"Which you won't be seeing," the Gaffer reminded her. "'Member you've got to go up with May to the Bolgers' smial and give it a good clean on the morrow."  
  
"Oh, drat!" proclaimed May prettily, tugging her hair into a braid.  
  
"Mind your betters!" growled the Gaffer. May blushed and murmured a sorry.  
  
"Would you like to come to Bag End for dinner?" Frodo asked, sensing that admonishing the Gaffer would lead nowhere. "Something cool to nibble on, I think. And I'd like to give you some cabbages, if that would please you."  
  
The Gaffer considered this; he knew his girls would be tired after the day's trip, and would not feel like scurrying about in their own small kitchen. "If it's no trouble, Mr. Frodo. I'll send May and Mari 'round when they get home to help ye. 'Tis the least we can do."  
  
Frodo nodded. "Yes, thank you," he said. Sam's sisters and dad climbed into the pony trap and were off back to Hobbiton with a cluck from the driver.  
  
Sam and Frodo began to walk down the road to Morgo's stable. The road was quiet; many hobbits had gone home to cool off, or were at the local inn to down an ale or two. Sam was shaking his head.  
  
"What?" asked Frodo.  
  
Sam chuckled. "My sisters and dad 'round for dinner, like we are married or summat. I never thought I'd see that."  
  
It was true. In the six months since Sam had come to live with Frodo (and the year previous to that when Sam and Frodo began to make each other blush with need), neither the Gaffer nor Sam's sisters had had dinner at Bag End. Sometimes the Gaffer had taken lunch inside when it rained before Bilbo had left for a second adventure, but that was hardly a formal sit-down, just the Gaffer munching on a couple of sandwiches while he and Bilbo discussed the tulips or the parsnip patch or whatever. But now…  
  
"But it's true, isn't it?" said Frodo in a soft voice. "It's like we're married, except, oh, we don't have the official papers nor have had a ceremony."  
  
Sam tugged Frodo into the shade between two buildings, a cosy private space. They hid behind a couple of stacked barrels, cool and shady, and Sam pulled Frodo to him. Frodo looked uncertain, but smiled softly. Sam caressed the sides of Frodo's face with his thumbs, told Frodo with his eyes the answer, the only answer. Shadows clung to the fine smoothness of Frodo's skin, but his eyes were bright, eager now and playful, heating slowly. Sam edged Frodo to a wall and gently pushed him against it, while kissing and licking at the damp skin of Frodo's neck. Frodo sighed and filled his hands with the plump cheeks of Sam's bottom.   
  
"Of course, me dear," Sam murmured, tasting the lovely shell of Frodo's ear with an inquisitive tongue.  
  
"Oh, Sam, I like your answer," said Frodo, nipping at Sam's lower lip. He ran his tongue around the rim of Sam's mouth, unhurried, then let their mouths meet, coaxing Sam's tongue to join his in a hot, writhing dance.   
  
"Frodo…" Sam gasped, licking a drip of sweat glimmering on Frodo's nose. "We should--"  
  
"Continue," stated Frodo firmly. Their mouths crushed together, and they kissed in that slow-heated way that would hopefully allow them to stop before things got carried away. Which was difficult for Sam, leastways, with Frodo squeezing and fondling his behind as if he was trying decide whether it was ripe or not.   
  
Sam inched his thigh between Frodo's legs, feeling delicious hardness press into his breeches. Oh, this was right silly, but Sam didn't care a whit, combing his fingers through Frodo's sweat-moist curls to bring that lovely mouth closer.   
  
"Sam…" murmured Frodo; it came out slightly muddled as his tongue tickled the side of Sam's mouth. Sam sighed: he knew what Frodo was saying.  
  
Sam unstuck their writhing, indulgent mouths. "Maybe we could do that next," he said.  
  
"Hmmm?" answered Frodo, entirely too distracted by how wet and sleek the inside of Sam's mouth was.   
  
"We could marry," smiled Sam, eyes dancing with mirth.  
  
Frodo laughed. "We'll see."  
  
"Hello?" A soft voice startled them, and Frodo ceased experimenting with the firmness of Sam's bottom in less than a breath. He adjusted his breeches to cover up his excitement -- he hoped.   
  
A young lass stepped into the shadows, blinking. She was clothed in a simple white dress that fell softly over her slim body, pulling tight at her bosom, and a bonnet decorated with colourful flowers rested on her head. Neither Frodo nor Sam had ever seen her before.  
  
She blushed and adjusted her skirts. "Mr. Baggins," she began haltingly, "I saw you in court today. I -- I just wanted to say how much I admire you for what you're doing. My brother, he -- he's in a similar situation to you and Master Gamgee, and, well, I just wanted to thank you."   
  
"That's encouraging to hear that, miss," began Frodo. "Tell me, what is your name-- Wait!  
  
But the lass had gathered her skirts and disappeared into the afternoon sunlight.  
  
Frodo sighed and wound an arm around Sam's waist. He pushed his nose into spicy-scented curls. "I think we will be helping more than ourselves if we win," said Frodo.  
  
"That makes you happy, doesn't it, love?" said Sam admiringly, kissing Frodo's cheek. "Helping other people."  
  
"Yes." Frodo closed his eyes, feeling the breeze sneak into the alley and brush away his cares. "Let's go home and have a pleasant dinner, shall we?"  
  
And Sam and Frodo stepped back out into the hot sun and headed towards Morgo's stables.  
  
TBC... 


	4. Of Cousins and Rams

_Of Cousins and Rams_  
  
In Frodo's dream, something was banging quite loudly. He told that something firmly to shut up, thank you, and let me put my hands down Sam's pants, if you will. The banging paused, and Frodo, very satisfied, slid his fingers down the hem of Sam's pants, finding a lovely, slick part of Sam that jumped lightly when he touched there just so.  
  
The banging continued. Loudly.  
  
"Bugger!" Frodo rolled over, now wide awake, aware the banging was not only in his dreams, but in miserable reality as well.   
  
At least Sam -- a naked, aroused Sam -- was lying beside him.  
  
Sam looked terrified. "Should I answer it?" he whispered.  
  
"Er." Frodo was distracted, quite rightly, by the achingly beautiful piece of hobbit beside him. "Um," he said. "Something's up."  
  
Sam let out a strained chuckle. "'Tis not my fault you were having one of _those_ dreams, seemingly. A writhing Frodo Baggins moaning next to me is going to make these things happen."  
  
Frodo lightly pressed his lips on Sam's. "I think we should get up now. But keep that thought."  
  
"Oh, I will," muttered Sam darkly.  
  
Frodo didn't move. Sam sighed. Getting Frodo out of bed was the hardest part of Sam's day. True, it used to be difficult enough when he wasn't sleeping in his master's bed, but now… Frodo had that way of looking at him -- those blue eyes half-hid by a sweep of lashes, that tumble of earth-dark curls softly floating on the pillow, lips a rosy-pink, whispering that he wanted--  
  
Sam heard something somewhat discouraging. Or, rather, he didn't hear anything.  
  
The banging had ceased.  
  
"Frodo--" he began.  
  
"If you two could stop bloody tumbling for one moment, maybe you could fetch Pip and me some breakfast!" came a voice just outside the door. The Buckland twang could only mean it was Merry.  
  
"Hurry!" added another voice. Pippin. Obviously.  
  
"All right, all right!" called Frodo in an annoyed tone. Frodo stretched out of bed, followed by Sam. As Sam tugged on his breeches, he thought about Frodo's unruly cousins. For example, why were they here? Unfortunately, he had not discovered this. And not through a want of trying, either. Oh no. The dinner had been very pleasant, with loads of cold ham, eggs, bread and fruit on offer, and after, Sam, the Gaffer and Frodo had smoked and talked in the parlour, while the girls flipped through one of Frodo's books with many pretty pictures, sometimes giggling at the elven garments (the elves, seemingly, enjoyed the fashion of wearing breeches that left naught to the imagination.) Later, when Sam and Frodo toppled into bed, was when the fun began. Sam had tried all ten things that he was sure would cause Frodo to spill what evidence Merry and Pippin would give. Sam didn't even joke to himself what else it might spill. Number three had been sticking his tongue into a dark, warm part of Frodo's anatomy. No luck. Seven was teasing a quill over another part of Frodo's body that was rosy and dripping at the time. No luck. Nine was fondling a pair of nicely ripe apricots, and not just fondling but sucking and squeezing as well. Still no luck. Afterwards, Sam had fallen asleep in exhaustion, only to wake up to find Frodo was experiencing a dream. Nice.  
  
Frodo and Sam found Merry and Pippin in the kitchen, making themselves at home. Deciding not to wait for Frodo and Sam, Merry and Pippin were happily frying rashers of bacon and spiced scrambled eggs, while a kettle steamed on the hob.   
  
"Merry," began Frodo, "what are you -- oof!" Merry nearly bowled Frodo over with a cousinly hug.  
  
"How are you, Frodo?" asked Merry, pecking a kiss on Frodo's cheek. "That Lobelia needs a swift kick in the you-know-where, doesn't she?"  
  
"Yes, dear Merry." Frodo rolled his eyes. "Though I hope her losing this trial will be enough punishment."  
  
"Ah, Frodo, always so gentle." Merry tugged on a bit of Frodo's hair. Frodo swatted him away, giving Merry an exasperated look. "Maybe I ought to give Pip a big kiss right in the middle of court today, eh? Show these backward folk a thing or two from the Eastfarthing."  
  
"Just do what I told you," warned Frodo. He sat down and took a sip of tea Merry had set in front of him.  
  
"Don't worry, Frodo," grinned Pippin. "We'll be good."  
  
Frodo gave Pippin a look that showed exactly how much truth he thought that statement held. "Pippin, the day I--"  
  
Frodo found himself with an armful of wriggling Took in his lap. Pippin dipped a mischievous look in Frodo's direction. "These hobbits in the Westfarthing don't know what they're missing out on. Remember a few summers back when Merry and I showed you how much fun the hayloft could be?"  
  
"Pippin!" Frodo dumped the younger hobbit on the floor. "I -- I don't -- what--" Frodo spluttered a few more words before giving Sam an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Sam."  
  
"'Tis all right, sir." Sam negotiated the pile of flustered Took on the floor and sat at the table with a plate heavy with eggs and bacon. "As long as your cousins don't try nothing _now._"  
  
"Oh, we won't, Sam," said Merry breezily, helping Pippin up. "We know you'll kill us if we even give Frodo an amorous look."  
  
Sam stared at his plate, but said nothing.  
  
"I think he really would, Pip," said Merry in a loud whisper.  
  
"Oh, yes," giggled Pippin.  
  
"You two, stop it," said Frodo, smacking Merry on the arm. "That was a long time ago. Sam and I are very much in love."  
  
"You know we wouldn't, dear Frodo," said Merry, sitting down with his own breakfast, followed by Pippin. "Anyway, Pip here's found somebody."  
  
Frodo raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And who is that?"  
  
"Wattle Burrowes," said Merry knowledgeably. "Apparently they met at one of those wild Tookland orgies."  
  
"We did not!" said Pippin hotly, mouth filled with mashed egg.  
  
"Pip, dear, swallow that first," said Frodo mildly.  
  
Pippin swallowed. "Well, we didn't! We met out in the pool one evening while she was swimming with some other lasses. It's a Took custom to swim without one's clothing on."  
  
"That's the first I've heard of it," said Frodo, popping a bit of egg into his mouth.   
  
"It's new," muttered Pippin, examining his bacon thoroughly.  
  
"All right," said Frodo, covering a chuckle with his napkin. "Let's stop teasing Pippin. We have more important things to discuss."  
  
"We know what we're going to say, Frodo," said Merry. "That we saw--"  
  
"Hush!" Frodo tossed a look at Sam. "It's a secret. Sam will see in court today."  
  
"Nothing I can do to get it out of him, seemingly," muttered Sam, blushing hotly.  
  
"You can't say it wasn't fun," whispered Frodo, pinching Sam's bottom. Sam found a piece of egg particularly interesting.  
  
Merry looked amused. "Have it your way, Frodo. You'll win, with me and Pip here."  
  
Frodo raised an eyebrow but said naught.  
  
"Anyway, Frodo, you could always come to Tuckborough or Buckland with Sam if you lose," piped up Pippin. He smiled widely, mouth full of egg. "Maybe Sam'd like to take a look in the hayloft."  
  
"_Pippin,_" said Frodo warningly. "I am not going to lose Bag End to some silly law that doesn't even make sense. If push comes to shove, I'll stand in the hall with a shovel ready to swing."  
  
"Hoy! Sounds like fun," chortled Merry. "Apparently my Great Uncle Dino did that years ago. They wanted to bring him to Brandy Hall because he was getting too old to look after himself. My da reckons he found Dino eating a strap of leather one day. Anyway, Dino armed himself with a spoon and whacked a few hobbits with it, too, till they managed to disarm him. Died a few years later, the old fellow. Found him in bed with a leather belt in his mouth." Merry shoved a bit of bacon between his teeth.  
  
"I don't want to fight if I can help it," said Frodo. "But I shall if I have to. Eat up, dears, and we will take the pony and cart to Michel Delving."  
  
The ride to Michel Delving was hot, though Frodo was cooled slightly when Pippin dumped a bottle of water over his head. Fortunately, it dried before they arrived at the court, and Sam _did_ seem to enjoy watching the tendrils of Frodo's hair stick to his scalp, and the way Frodo's shirt flattened on his chest to hint at a rosy nipple.   
  
Sam took the pony and cart to Morgo's, while Frodo, Merry and Pippin gathered near the Hole's steps, waiting. Shortly after, Lobelia and her son arrived, casting frosty glances in their direction. Sam's Gaffer wasn't there; he'd only come when May and Marigold were there to help him.  
  
"You know," Merry mused, "Pip and I could think of some trick to play on Lobelia. Pip's awfully good at playing tricks, aren't you? Remember how you poured glue into cousin Dahlia's best bonnet when she said you kissed like a dead fish? She had to cut all of her glorious blonde locks off! Caused a tremendous riot. Terribly funny, though."  
  
"Merry." Frodo ground his teeth. "How many times--"  
  
"Just kidding!" Merry whacked Frodo on the back. "We won't do anything, we promise."  
  
"Good," Frodo muttered. His face brightened as Sam came up to their group.  
  
"Young love," Merry sighed dramatically. "How wonderful it is!"  
  
Sam blushed.  
  
"In all seriousness," said Merry to Frodo, "I think it's lovely that you and Sam are together. Pippin and I had laid bets on when you'd finally both trip into the same bed. Unfortunately I lost, but to see you so happy, especially after Bilbo disappeared, eases my heart. You and Sam are both dear to me."  
  
"Oy! What about me?" Pippin tried to look hurt, but failed as a grin tugged up his lips.  
  
"You too," Merry said, giving Pippin a hug.   
  
"All right, all right," said Frodo, laughing. "Enough of this or I'll have to bring out the handkerchiefs! The mayor's coming out now; we'll have to go in soon. Mind yourself, dear cousins, or you might find a bruise in a rather uncomfortable part of your anatomy."  
  
This time when they entered the court, there was an extra seat on the mayor's left side, apparently set there for the witnesses to sit upon. There was the usual flurry of activity and shouts as everybody was seated; Merry and Pippin sat next to Frodo and Sam on the bench. Merry rubbed his bottom, grimacing.  
  
Will banged down his gavel. He consulted his notes. The crowd quieted. "First I will summarise what happened yesterday," he said. "Mrs. Sackville-Baggins accused Mr. Baggins of sharing a bed with Samwise Gamgee. Mr. Baggins pleaded guilty, and then argued Mrs. Sackville-Baggins only brought this matter to our attention because she wants Mr. Baggins' smial, Bag End. Let's continue from there. Mr. Baggins, do you have any evidence that Mrs. Sackville-Baggins would want Bag End?"  
  
Frodo rose and slowly walked to the front of the court. "Only circumstantial evidence, Your Honour," he said, pacing up and down. "If it weren't for me, her husband Otho would have been Bilbo's heir, and would have received Bag End when Bilbo left the Shire. After Bilbo's farewell party in 1401, I have a witness, Meriadoc Brandybuck, who will vouch for me when I say that Mrs. Sackville-Baggins told me I should have left with Bilbo. She and her husband were very interested in Bilbo's will, insisting on reading the document. It turned out to be correct, with seven witnesses' signatures in red ink, so they could do nothing to stop me living in Bag End. Now, it seems, she's found something.  
  
"As well, when Bilbo came back from his first adventure in 1342, he found the Sackville-Bagginses measuring Bag End's rooms to see if their own furniture would fit. I would expect that sort of behaviour from people who were desperate to own Bag End."  
  
"If you left Bag End," asked the mayor, "would Mrs. Sackville-Baggins be the rightful owner?"  
  
"No." Frodo leaned against a bench, looking directly at Lobelia. "I have no heir, for now, so legally Otho would receive Bag End. Since he is dead, it would rightfully belong to his son, Lotho. Since I have broken the law, apparently, I cannot sell it to whoever I chose."  
  
"So Mrs. Sackville-Baggins would benefit from this trial if you are found guilty?" the mayor mused, brushing a quill across his cheek.  
  
"Certainly." Frodo smiled. "I'm sure Lotho, being a bachelor, would allow his mother to reside in Bag End, for a while at least." Lobelia frowned and glared at him.  
  
"Do you want to call up Mr. Brandybuck as a witness?" said Will.  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
Merry walked up to the front of the court, with a swagger of hips and a huge grin, and sat on the witness' seat, leaning back and stretching out his long legs.  
  
"Hullo," he said, cheerfully, to the mayor.  
  
The mayor scowled and nodded to Frodo to get on with it.  
  
"Mr. Brandybuck--" he began. Merry snorted. "--Merry, did you hear what Mrs. Sackville-Baggins said to me after Bilbo's party?"  
  
"Of course," said Merry. "She said you would 'live to regret it.' Living in his own smial, I suppose that means. She said he ought to have left with Bilbo. Then she gave Frodo the compliment of being a Brandybuck instead of a Baggins."  
  
"Thank you, Merry," said Frodo. He turned to Mr. Grubb. "Do you want to question the witness?" Grubb shook his head. "You may sit down, Merry."  
  
"Is that all?" Merry looked around, disappointed.   
  
"Go back to your bench," barked the mayor, in no mood for frivolities. Merry looked as if his pride had been given a sound beating as he sat next to Sam.  
  
"Nasty piece of work, isn't he?" Merry murmured, nodding to Will. "Maybe he's got indigestion, judging by his belly."  
  
Sam wasn't listening. Instead he was watching Lobelia whisper to her lawyer. He wished she'd shut her sour mouth for once. She didn't deserve the Baggins name, for sure, not when fine hobbits like Mr. Bilbo and Frodo had to share it with her.  
  
"Mr. Grubb, do you have anything to say?" the mayor said, breaking Sam's thoughts.  
  
Grubb stood up. "Mrs. Sackville-Baggins does not deny she said that to Mr. Baggins, though she says she was upset at the time that her dear friend, Bilbo, had disappeared all of a sudden, and so regrets that her behaviour may have seemed…forthright. She apologises to Mr. Baggins, and regrets that he misunderstood the situation. Mrs. Sackville-Baggins would also like to add she is very comfortable in her smial, and has no desire to move."  
  
"Bollocks," hissed Merry. "She hated Bilbo. It was like all her Yuletides had come at once when he disappeared. Until she found out Frodo had Bag End." Sam agreed; he remembered, years ago at Mr. Bilbo's party, as he basted fat hens in the open-air kitchen, seeing Lobelia just after Mr. Bilbo had gone. She looked like Sam would have if he'd known then how lovely Frodo's mouth was when it ravished every part of Sam's body.   
  
"Mr. Baggins?" Will asked.  
  
Frodo sighed. "I have nothing more to say about this." He walked to the bench and riffled through his notes. "I do, however, have much to say in answer to the charges Mrs. Sackville-Baggins has levelled against me. As I said yesterday, I believe that this law is not valid -- and that it does not reflect the views of most hobbits." A ripple of murmurs fanned out through the court. He continued, "But I know that may not convince you, Your Honour, to remove the law."  
  
Will frowned. He didn't like the idea of having to amend the Westfarthing's many laws. He'd never done it in all his years as the mayor, and the idea of sifting through reams of parchment stuffed somewhere in the Lockholes to strike out a particular passage and write the new law sounded tiresome at the very least. Besides, there were other laws that hadn't been amended, and nobody (except a busybody like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins) took any notice of them when they were broken. Like the one which stated that every second Trewsday during winter all hobbits must swim across the Water and back again wearing naught but their skin. Apparently some mad Took had made it up hundreds of years ago; luckily the practice lasted only a few winters.  
  
Will sighed. He'd much rather be thinking about salted pork and warm apple pie than the law. Truth be told, this whole trial was disturbing him a great deal. It was dredging up some memory half forgotten… Oh, he had sympathy for Frodo and for Sam; that Lobelia really was detestable, but it was his duty to uphold the law when it was very obviously broken when brought before him. If the law wasn't maintained, havoc would ensue.   
  
"My friend, Peregrin Took," Frodo was saying, "has a very interesting story to tell the court. Pippin, please come up to the witness chair and share it with us."  
  
Looking slightly bewildered, Pippin eased out of the bench and took his seat. He pushed his coppery curls from his eyes and gave his audience a smile. "Hullo," he said. "Hot, isn't it?"  
  
"Get on with it," said Frodo through gritted teeth.  
  
Pippin rolled his eyes. "All right, Frodo. Keep your pants on." Not, Frodo reflected, the best possible remark to be made at this time.  
  
"My father, the Took," began Pippin, "owns a few hundred head of sheep in Tookland. Every year we sell the lambs throughout the four farthings, at a decent price too, because my dad only breeds the best. Sometimes, though, some of the rams don't, er, perform how we'd like them to, if you take my meaning. I'm sure the other farmers around here will tell you the same. So, um, you see, those rams don't seem to like the ewes. Some of them will even try to--" Pippin paused and glanced at Frodo. Frodo closed his eyes painfully and nodded. "--Mount other rams."  
  
"So you see," said Frodo loudly over the uproar and weeping, "it can't be said it's entirely unnatural -- there's not much more natural than a herd of sheep."  
  
Sam blinked, surprised. He'd heard that some rams were butchered because they didn't breed quality stock, but not because--  
  
Pippin jumped into the seat next to Sam. "Bet you didn't see that coming, did you?" he whispered. "I don't think much is said about it by the farmers. My dad told me about it, though, because he said I'd have to learn that kind of thing when I become the Took. Frodo knew, too, because one day we saw it happen." Pippin looked sly. "In fact, he rather wanted to try it out, too."  
  
Sam gave Pippin a quick look. He knew about Frodo and his cousins, and a few of the lasses, too. Frodo had confessed it all to Sam, after Sam was quite certain (after a delightful experience) that Frodo was _not_ a virgin. Anyhow, Sam had had a few tumbles with Tom Cotton, and Rosie for that matter, so Sam didn't say aught more about it. Still, the thought of Frodo's lovely skin warming beneath somebody else's hands prickled him with jealously.  
  
The room hushed as Frodo began to speak. "I know this is rather startling, but I think I've made a point: maybe it's not something you can control. The rams do not think, they follow their instincts. How can that be wrong? Maybe you can't choose who you will fall in love with, whether they be a lad or lass. I believe it's something your heart chooses, not your head." His eyes sought Sam's; he looked imploringly, all his love swirling around in a storm of glittering blue. "I love Sam," he continued quietly. "Even if he were a lass, I would want to spend my entire life with him, share every moment with him. It's nothing to be shunned or hidden away. It's a beautiful thing, lovelier than a winter snowfall. I love you, Sam."  
  
Sam blinked hard, blood rushing to his cheeks. Frodo's eyes lingered on him, soft and happy. Sam stood up. "I love you too, Frodo Baggins," he said, and flew to the front of the court to pull Frodo into a tight hug.  
  
TBC... 


	5. Of Dreams and Hornblowers

_Part 5: Of Dreams and Hornblowers_

After Sam had disentangled himself from Frodo's body, and the poor hobbits had recovered from the shock, the court was dismissed for lunch. Merry had thoughtfully packed a picnic basket, so the four hobbits found a hidden, shady tree to eat under. Frodo nibbled on a ham sandwich, his eyes on Sam. Sam was eating a cold chicken pie, blushing, and not from the sun, Frodo thought. Sam had never shown much affection for Frodo when they were out together -- at the market perhaps, or dining at _The Ivy Bush_. It would complicate matters, but now matters were so complicated it would be rather difficult to unknot them, anyhow. Humming softly under his breath, Frodo tore another piece of brown bread from his sandwich. He liked this new development; the thought of holding Sam's hand as they walked down the road, or dancing with him slow and soft at parties, was very appealing.

Merry ingested a cupful of cold thin tea. "You really put on a show in there, Sam! Made those old maids blush as bright as a tomato!"

Sam mumbled something, concentrating very much on the flavour of the chicken pie.

When they had devoured the lunch, all four full, satiated hobbits lay back and watched the sun make a part of its daily journey across the sky. Pippin kept complaining that he was hungry, while dabbling his finger across the plain of Merry's stomach.

Promptly at two o'clock the court began its session. It was Mr. Grubb's turn to ruminate. "Master Took's evidence," he began, "though interesting, has nothing to do with hobbits. These are sheep, and the last time I checked there were no hobbits that looked or acted like sheep." This drew laughter from the audience. "Mr. Baggins mentioned that you could not help who you fell in love with. Perhaps not. But when one lives in a society, one must learn to control oneself. What would happen if every time somebody wanted to hurt somebody else, they did it? There would be chaos. But, most of the time, we hold back our urges and let it be. The law is there for a reason: break the law, and society as we know it would crumble like dry biscuit."

Mr. Grubb sat down, looking satisfied. Frodo took a long drink from his glass and wandered slowly to the front of the court. "How," he began, "can the fact that Sam and I live together bring chaos to the Shire? We are not hurting anybody -- except perhaps Mrs. Sackville-Baggins' fragile sensibilities. We are conducting ourselves like any hobbit and his wife would act. And, like a husband and wife, all we want is peace and happiness, and to live our lives together. Is that too much to ask?" The look on Lobelia's face plainly said it _was_ too much to ask. Frodo sighed. "I was reading up on the Shire records, and do you know what I found? The law was enacted a hundred and fifty-two years ago because the mayor didn't want his son to be with another lad. He wanted his son to marry and sire him grandchildren. So he changed the law, regardless of how his son felt. It was not a law to benefit hobbits of the Westfarthing, and neither was it thought out properly during a council meeting. The mayor had it hastily written out and added to Westfarthing law, without consultation and consideration. And in the end his son married a lass, because he didn't want to leave the land he loved. Unfortunately, the son never spoke to his father again. It broke their family apart, and it was well known the lass and lad weren't happy in their marriage." The crowd made noises of dismay at this; Frodo paused to gather a breath.

Grubb stood up. "It does not matter how the law came into being," he said. "It is _the_ law, and we should obey it."

"This law is ridiculous," Frodo broke in. Grubb flushed and opened his mouth to protest, but in the end sat down on his plump behind. "It does not benefit anybody," continued Frodo. "It was not made for the sake of hobbits' wellbeing, but rather a mayor who wanted his family's name continued. And clearly the law is not stopping hobbits from lying with hobbits of the same sex -- look at Aunt Gladia and Aunt Violet living in that small smial in Bywater. You can't tell me all they've been doing is baking pumpkin scones. Or those two Hornblower cousins who've been brewing beer in their house near the Water for fifty years without the benefit of wives. Really, I could go on."

Pippin nudged Sam. "Apt name, Hornblower, isn't it?" he whispered mischievously. "They've probably been blowing each other's--"

"--Furthermore," Frodo continued, effectively shutting Pippin's mouth and stopping him from speaking a very old, common and, quite frankly, bad joke, "I really didn't want to bring this up, unless I very much had to, but it seems I have to." He looked directly at Lobelia. "It concerns your son," he told her. Lobelia looked suspicious, but beside her Lotho turned several shades paler than a glass of milk. "If Sam and I are sent from the Westfarthing, Mrs. Sackville-Baggins and her son will move into Bag End. However, there have been some rumours about what Lotho does behind the woodshed--"

"I never!" A chair scraped and Lotho stood up, cheeks flushed an angry red. Eyes flashing, he said, "Frodo, how--"

"Mr. Baggins, you have evidence of this?" interrupted the mayor.

"No, I haven't, I'm afraid, Your Honour. Just rumours that have been floating around Hobbiton for the past few years. I have yet to venture to the woodshed myself to see what is going on. Perhaps Lotho is only entertaining the lads with puffs of Old Toby from his pipe. But if it were true, then maybe Bag End wouldn't be free of certain 'scenes' if Sam and I were sent away." Frodo finished with a sun-bright smile.

"You -- you nasty Brandybuck!" It was Lobelia's turn to spout her anger at Frodo. "How dare you accuse Lotho of -- of such things? I should--"

"Lobelia," Frodo interjected smoothly, "if you hadn't brought Sam and me here in the first place, I would have never said anything. But you gave me no choice."

"Objection!" Grubb finally spluttered. "Objection! Mr. Baggins can't give evidence that is only based on hearsay. I request that Mr. Baggins' remarks regarding Lotho and the aunts and the Hornblower cousins be struck off the records."

Frodo bowed slightly. "I withdraw my remarks. I'm terribly sorry."

"Do you anything more to add?" asked the mayor.

"Yes, I do," Frodo said. He looked around the crowd. "The law is wrong. We hobbits care deeply for each other for most of the time. It would be wrong to force hobbits apart because they are in love with somebody of the same sex. Don't you see? It's too special to turn away from. Perhaps you don't agree with same sex couples, but can you find it in your hearts to accept us, for we are happy and that is all we want. Removing this law will make many, many hobbits happier. Hobbits do not like conflict, but peace and contentment. I find that with Sam, and no doubt all hobbits feel that when they are in a loving relationship." Frodo turned and sat next to Sam.

"Grubb?" the mayor said.

Grubb shook his head. "I've said my part. We must follow the law."

The court was filled with hushed whispers and pointed fingers, while the mayor spoke hurriedly with one of his assistants for a few minutes. Sam took Frodo's hand and stroked it lovingly. Frodo's tender smile was enough to warm Sam's heart (and send a few lightning bolts to other places if truth be told).

Finally the assistant sat down and Whitfoot rumbled, "Ladies and gentlehobbits. If both parties agree, this will be the end of the debate. Tomorrow my assistants and I will consider the arguments and come to a decision. The day after tomorrow, the court will open and I will speak my judgment. Mr. Baggins, what say ye?"

"I agree," said Frodo, firm and proud.

"Mr. Grubb?"

"I agree," said the lawyer, polishing his glasses primly.

"Court dismissed!" declared the mayor.

The hobbits made their way out of the courtroom. Sam fetched the pony and cart, while Frodo, Merry and Pippin polished off a few teacakes Merry had smuggled into his pack. The wind blew hot in their faces, and wavering mirages danced upon the road ahead.

Popping the last crumb of biscuit into his mouth, Merry said, "Is it true what you said about Lotho, Frodo?"

"I'm afraid it is, though I can't prove it, and nor do I want to. As terrible as she is, I'm sure the shock of it will give Lobelia a heart attack," said Frodo. "Of course, if it means the difference between being with Sam in Bag End and not being with him, I shall try to prove it. I hope it doesn't come to that."

"What about Aunt Gladia and Aunt Violet?" snickered Pippin. "It sounds rather exciting. Perhaps I should peep into their smial one night."

"Pippin!" laughed Frodo, swatting his mischievous cousin, who looked at Frodo with eyes as innocent as a doe's. "You're as bad as Lobelia!"

Presently Sam came 'round with Sass and the cart, and the four hobbits jumped aboard, with Sam at the reins, and rode slowly back to Bag End.

That night, as Sam writhed under Frodo's wet body, Lotho was sharing kisses with two other lads behind the woodshed. Lobelia had believed him when he told her he was going to chat with the fellows down at The Dragon. And, in fact, they did share a pipe of Old Toby afterwards, in postcoital bliss.

At the same time Frodo sank deep into Sam, and Lotho was kneeling down before a gasping Odo Bolger-Baggins, the Mayor was having a rather strange dream. He was a tween again, lying on the grass beside a soft-flowing river, watching another lad paddle in the water. The lad was naked as the day he were born; sunlight shimmered off the drops running down his skin.

"Hoy!" The lad walked over, stretching out beside Will. "The water's cold!" the lad -- Tim, Will remembered, said.

"It is," Will agreed. "Which is why I'm not in it." He yawned sleepily. The sun twinkled through the leaves above.

"Maybe we can play a game," Tim said thoughtfully, snapping a stick in his hands.

Will closed his eyes. It was too warm to play games; all he wanted to do was doze and dream, perhaps about those pretty lasses he'd seen in the Delving this morning. There was a rustle beside him. _Good,_ he thought. _Maybe now I'll have some peace._

Something moist and tender suddenly touched Will's mouth. He gasped, his whole body ashiver. He kissed back, fondling the sweet warm tongue with his own. His groin felt like it was on fire. And when an equally hard groin met his, he did not object, but thrust against it, till he could not contain himself any longer, and spilled into the lad's hand in hot gushes…

The Mayor sat bolt upright in bed. His heart galloped in his chest. Beside him his wife slept on, undisturbed, soft snores coming from her open mouth. Moonlight gave the room a ghostly appearance. The wonderful scent of fried bacon lingered in the room. His nightclothes were sticky with sweat. A lone dog barked far away. Somewhere down the road a door slammed.

_Enough,_ the Mayor thought angrily. It had not been just another silly dream. Will remembered now. It had happened in his past.

TBC... 


End file.
